


like a lantern in the dark

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma had always dreamed what it would be like to have a mother.  As a child, she’d work out the scenarios in her head; conjure up epic fantasies where her birth mother would ride into town like some sort of knight in shining armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a lantern in the dark

Snow curls up in bed, fully clothed because there's no point in changing, and draws her knees to her chest. David and Emma are locking the doors and windows, covering any crack or glimpse into their world for fear of attack.

 

“I can take first shift,” David says, standing just outside the bedroom door. “I'll wake you when we need to switch.”

 

“No,” Emma replies, arms folded across her chest. “No, you won't wake me. I'll take first shift.”

 

Snow regards them silently, vacantly. It's a stand-off between the two most stubborn people she knows, and they're staring back at each other with the same eyes and the same posture and normally she'd smile, because they are so alike it hurts. But not tonight.

 

David rubs the back of his neck. “I'm not going to win this one, am I?”

 

“No,” Emma says evenly, and then her voice breaks. “Is … is she going to be okay?”

 

_I don't know,_ Snow thinks.

 

“I don't know,” David whispers, and squeezes Emma's shoulder.

 

He comes to sit on the edge of the bed, his fingers carding through her hair. “Hey,” he says softly. “Let's get some sleep.” When she doesn't respond, doesn't move, he tries again. “Do you want to change?”

 

She manages a shrug, which he apparently takes for assent, because then he's carefully slipping her out of her clothes and into a pair of his ratty old sweatpants and her favorite cozy sweater. She catches Emma’s worried gaze,waiting at just the edge of the alcove. She’s chewing on the side of her thumbnail, like mother like daughter.

 

_Her_ daughter. And what a splendid example she’s set for her today; and not just for her, but for her grandson as well. A part of her has marveled this whole time at their resemblance, these pieces of herself she’s passed on. Her chin, her compassion. Her protectiveness, her strength. Her love of cinnamon on her chocolate.

 

But this - this moment of weakness - is something she hopes Emma will be spared. Emma is too good for that; too strong. She’s a survivor.

 

Like mother like daughter, she thinks as she falls asleep in her husband’s arms. With despair, she hopes it isn’t so.

 

\--

 

Emma had always dreamed what it would be like to have a mother. As a child, she’d work out the scenarios in her head; conjure up epic fantasies where her birth mother would ride into town like some sort of knight in shining armor. She’d pull her into her arms, kiss her face and tell her she loved her. She wouldn’t hit her for finishing the peanut butter, or send her to bed hungry for forgetting her homework. She’d be beautiful with wild hair and tell the best stories - tales of even wilder adventures. She’d come and take her away and they’d live happily ever after.

 

(She’d given up on a father long ago, of course. None of the other kids had dads out there, only moms.)

 

But as her friends found homes - some with newly free mothers, others with aunts and uncles, and even a few with brand new parents of their own - she realized hers wasn’t coming. Stories were just that. There were no moms in shining armor, only little Emma left alone on the side of the road. She had no-one; only herself.

 

Turns out, she had a mom all along; and a badass one to boot. She’d told her that once (the part about the badassery, not the giving up) in the Enchanted Forest. Mary Margaret - Snow - _her mother_ had laughed, carefully fingering the shaft of an arrow. While Mary Margaret had loved fiercely, Snow _lived_ fiercely. Nothing was half-assed with her; all or nothing every step of the way. “Must run in the family,” she’d grinned, and Emma had blanched.

 

(But maybe it does, because some days Snow sets her jaw with determination and Emma swears she’s looking into a mirror.)

 

She’d never wanted a princess for a mother. The princesses in stories were always damsels in distress, waiting around for their knights to rescue them. That wasn’t much of a mother, she’d thought. But as she turns through the pages of Henry’s book and spies an illustration of Snow racing on horseback, jaw set and arrow drawn, she decides maybe breaking stereotypes is a bit of a family tradition.

 

She hadn’t told her before. Not in the Enchanted Forest, not even late that night calling home from New York, just because she missed her best friend - her mom.

 

So she tells her now; perched carefully on the edge of the bed, she takes in the protective curve of her father’s arm, the way her mother’s fingers twist in the fabric of his sleeve. She watches and she tells her about all the adventures she’d imagined as a child, describes the way she planned to crawl into bed beside her, recounts the late nights they’d share working on her homework while they devoured a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. She cries, tears dripping dangerously onto Snow’s pillow, and tells her how she’d wished and prayed and begged for her when that pregnancy test had come back positive; hoped and bargained that maybe her mom might come and save her still, might tell her what to do.

 

“But in the end you did,” she says finally, voice cracking. “You really did save me. You gave me a home when I was homeless, and you stood by me even when I fucked up. You bailed me out of jail without a second thought. You taught me to trust again; taught me how to love my son. You were there when Graham--” She chokes, remembering the weight of him in her arms, and the way she’d curled up in this bed beside Mary Margaret, waiting out the sleepless night together. “You’ve protected me with your life, time and time again and --- and you’re everything I ever wanted in a mom. So please--” Her voice breaks, and she finds her hand tightening over Snow’s. “Mom, please -- please come back to us.” Her voice lowers to a bare whisper, and she dares to smooth Snow’s bangs from her face. “Come back to me. I need you.”

 

\--

 

Snow listens as Emma retreats to the kitchen, and curls her fingers into the fabric of her husband’s sleeve, her tears staining the pillowcase.


End file.
